


L’Amor C’est Ma Guerre

by Brim



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Content, Voyeurism, accidental?, believe it or not theres plot, but theres sex so pls dont read if you dont want that/shouldnt be reading r18+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brim/pseuds/Brim
Summary: “I’m a fallen angel—body and soul. My true passion is to drag god down off his pedestal.”





	L’Amor C’est Ma Guerre

**Author's Note:**

> uh, read the tags, please, tried to be as excessive as possible (its not really that explicit, but just to be safe)

_What will it take to make you capitulate?_

…

 

   Lucilius’ private quarters were also his personal laboratory at the time. It was the place where he stored all his pet projects and the place where he could work, away from the Astral’s eyes. It also became a hobby of sorts for Belial to watch his beloved creator work.

“Cilius, it’s getting stuffy in here. I’ll open the window.” Belial announced when he reached out for the ornate window pane and opened the lid slightly, letting some fresh air in. Lucilius ignored him for the most part. Usually he was too absorbed in his own inventions, so Belial could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t touch his works in progress.

   Although with the sheer amount of _stuff_ in the room, Belial found it hard to differentiate garbage from treasure. The huge window panes on the side of the wall let plenty of light in, but the room was so cluttered that the inside still seemed dingy. Plants, books, trinkets, pots, containers with remnants of odd creatures and vials of liquids were scattered on every surface in the room, some even ending on the floor in stacks on top of each other. The ornate wooden desk, Lucilius’ workspace, was no different – dust had gathered at the edges of it and on top of the towers of unused books. The kit Lucilius was hunched over was the only pristinely-kept part.

  The room was connected to his actual bedroom, but that bedroom was converted into a storage unit – Belial never saw him use the bed and judging by the piles of papers and journals stored on top of it, he doubted whether Lucilius used it since a very long time ago. Usually, Lucilius dozed off on the faded red canapé in the middle of the room.

   Instead of returning to his previous spot, lounging on the occupying armchair next to the canapé, Belial started rummaging through his creator’s things. Reading notes, glancing through old journals or tinkering with discarded experiments, there was a childish playfulness to Belial’s curiosity.

   He opened the lid of one of the pots on the table by the wall only to be stared back by the eyeless head of some type of mammal. Its skin and meat had fallen off, likely as a result of boiling, leaving only the milky white bones. The liquid the skull was in was murky.

“Were you making soup?” Belial chuckled, putting the lid back on. Lucilius didn’t rise to the provocation and ignored him. In return, Belial sighed.

   He moved closer to Lucilius’ side again and peeked over his shoulder, getting a closer look of his progress.

“Too close. You’re being bothersome.” Lucilius scolded him.

“Ah, then I apologize.” Belial chuckled again and took a step back.

   There were a few empty cups on the table beside the kit Lucilius was working on. Belial picked up one of them.

“What is this, Cilius?” Belial asked, curious. He brought it to his face, analyzing it. There was dark residue at the bottom and a sweet fragrance coming from it.

“Mead. It’s created by fermenting honey and fruits.” Lucilius explained offhand. The liquid in the circular vial in front of him started bubbling and he immediately began scribbling down notes on a torn piece of paper.

“Ah, I see.” Belial gave a thoughtful nod. “Why are you drinking that?”

“It helps with sleep.”

“You have a troubled sleep? Nightmares?” Belial inquired, mildly surprised that the conversation continued. Lucilius wasn’t the type to indulge with personal trivia.

“No. I saw a sad dream.” He sighed. The chemical process ceased and the result hadn’t been satisfying.

“Oh.” Belial hummed. He gave the premise a studying gaze. His yes landed on the copper-colored bottle by the side of the desk. He squatted down next to it.

“Can I drink it?”

“You can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Still, if you wish to do so regardless, I won’t stop you.” _I don’t care what you do._ Belial nodded at the roundabout permission.

“Sweet.” Belial picked it up and poured for himself in the cup. He downed the entire content in one go and grimaced. The liquid burned his throat, but the following sweetness was very satisfying.

   Lucilius huffed in amusement.

“Cilius, this stuff is pretty good! You should ask your colleague for more so we can share a cup.” The heat from the alcohol went to his cheeks and Belial grinned, but he refrained from having another cupful. His head was going to be too clouded otherwise.

“Foolish.” Lucilius sighed again and focused back on his experiment. Belial put the bottle where he found it and stood up. The sudden rise made his head spin so he staggered, but he managed to refrain from falling over.

   With cup still in his hand, he went to the sink at the bottom of the room in order to rinse it. There was gunk and leftover eggshells on the marbled counter and Belial furrowed his brows. It took all the strength in his being to refrain from asking what _that_ was all about.  

“Cilius, you should really consider tidying up the place! What would your visitors say?” He rinsed the cup and walked back, putting it where he found it.

“Usually nobody visits me.”

“But I pop by pretty frequently.” Lucilius’ eyes turned to him and Belial blinked in surprise – rarely did his creator ever look at him when speaking to him and this was the first time in Belial’s young mind that he noticed just how cold Lucilius’ eyes were.

“I consider you a nobody.”

…

 

_“Ah, the meaning of your name? It’s…”_

…

 

   The adjutant’s hasty steps echoed in the tall, white halls of the Astral Laboratory.

_“Call your master this instant, you beast.”_ The High Council harped on him, so Belial complied with their wishes. Needless to say, Lucilius had seemingly sunk into the ground and disappeared. His beloved creator wasn’t in his office or the laboratory. That just left his private quarters. None of the Astrals questioned his presence at the residential area when he rushed to Lucilius’ chambers. The tall white door to his room barely opened and Belial froze in his tracks.

   He heard them before seeing it. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. Soft moans and labored breathing. The unmistakable sound of—

_They’re committing sodomy…_

  Belial had to completely stop himself from making any noises, least he was noticed. He swallowed the gasp and leaned against the doorframe, obscured, but through the small crack he could still see them very clearly.

   Lucilius was above him, Lucifer beneath. Their bodies were leaning against each other on the faded canapé. The Supreme Primarch was stripped off his armor and pants and the white cloth pooled around his waist. His white wings were pressed underneath his body and bend haphazardly, but he didn’t seem to care. A few plumes had fallen on the ground by the canapé on which they lied.

    His creator was fully naked, except for his robe draped loosely around his shoulders, obscuring the scene like curtains would stage. Because of the sounds and movement, Belial had enough imagination to get a pretty clear image of what was going on.

    Lucifer’s eyes were half-lid, glazed in pleasure. The heat on his face was evident. Lucilius was kissing his neck, sucking and biting the delicate skin with no care whether he left bruises or not.

“Luci…lius…” Lucifer was breathless. It was the first time Belial heard the Supreme Primarch refer to their creator by name.

“…Lucifer…” Lucilius gasped out. There was something desperate about the way he was calling him. The absolute _need_ was dripping from his tone. Lucilius put his fingers on his face, comforting him. He ran his thumb across Lucifer’s flushed cheek, murmuring something so low that Belial couldn’t hear at all. Lucifer closed his eyes and exhaled.

   A heavy lump settled at the bottom of Belial’s stomach and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. Belial felt like he was about to vomit. At the same time he felt a fire between his thighs. The heat spread all the way up to his cheeks and he put his fingers on his face, trying to wipe it away, wishing he could just disappear. His legs wobbled and he almost lost his balance, collapsing into the room, but he steeled himself and hid behind the door, obscured from view.

    His fellows were too busy enjoying themselves to notice the small crack of the open door and the intruder hiding behind it. Belial couldn’t see them anymore, but the image was hard to forget and he could still hear them.  

   Lucifer exhaled more audibly, voice almost cracking. His friend’s rhythmic movement drew out the most pleased of moans and purrs. His fingers dug into Lucilius’ bare shoulder and Lucilius huffed in satisfaction.

“Enjoying this?” He chuckled and leaned in to kiss him. They both shared the same face voice and face, but Lucilius’ was sharper with a deeper tone while Lucifer sounded a lot softer.

   It was all too much.

   Unable to take it any longer, Belial unzipped his pants. He was already hard enough that every touch, every small stimulation made him shiver in pleasure. He felt himself coming closer and closer, threatening to tip over the edge. Belial closed his eyes, mind solely focusing on his creator’s steady breathes and occasional grunts. In his imagination, Lucilius worked him so well that Belial had to remember how to breathe.

   His hand snaked into his pants for blissful stimulation and hasty search for release. Belial was used to helping himself. He bit his fist, tasting the leather of his glove in order to muffle his moans and inhales.

   Belial worked himself in tandem with the duet. When their performance reached its finale, Belial finished in his hand as well.   

“Have you come down?” Lucifer still clang to his sleeve with his eyes closed, but he nodded. Lucilius patted his head, comfortingly. “I will clean the mess later.”

   The sharpness of Lucilius’ voice brought Belial back from his temporarily high of climaxing. He hastily fixed himself and his clothes and quietly left – nobody noticed he was ever there.

   Belial needed to change his uniform.

…

 

  His head was pounding and the air in his lungs felt disgusting. Belial couldn’t focus on his duties – his mind resided a million miles away. His thoughts and emotions piled up into an unpleasant, black lump that weight him down. Walking away from that scene felt like he was falling down the skies and into an abyss of resentment, bitterness, but also _determination_.

“Adjutant, are you alright?” Michael looked up to him with eyes full of concern. Belial blinked, momentarily bemused by his blazingly contradicting emotions and the chill of the hallway, before his mind returned back to reality. Michael, one of the newer primarchs was supposed to hand in a report to him and he had to give his feedback to her. As the one tasked with overlooking one of the tetra-elements, Michael had a bright future in front of her, but alas she was also shackled down by her duties.

“I’m fine.” He answered bluntly, more focused on calming his nerves.

“Are you certain? You look pale.” Michael hesitated for a moment, but pressed on. Her stubborn earnestness was endearing in an odd way to Belial.

“Ah, I’m fine Mikey. Don’t worry.” His tone turned playful and he smiled. The mask slipped back on. He had gotten careless, Belial concluded, considering even a new recruit saw his despondency.

  Michael tensed up, embarrassed.

“I apologize for prying. You’ve been working a lot lately and this…this is the first time I notice you space-out.” Michael replied defensively. Her respect for Belial ran deep and sometimes Michael’s endless empathy made her careless. It was a fact about his little trainee that Belial stored at the back of his mind _for future use_.

“Okey, I’ll take better care of myself.” He chuckled and took her report. He skimmed through it, but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts just couldn’t focus on the text before him. The clarity of his mind was destroyed, but a certain guiding light, an anchor, tied his mind to his surrounding world.

_Now then, how can I ruin them?_

**Author's Note:**

> so that happened,   
> thanks for reading, I really appreciate your feedback!
> 
> title is taken from the song "l'amor c'est ma guerre" (eng: love is my war) from mozart l'opera rock musical. it may or may not be fitting...all depends on interpretation ofc.  
> I just like that song, 
> 
> anyway, this is meant to be way, way in the past (hence why belial is still an adjutant), and be a younger belial so hes a bit more...mild? ...Idk, but I guess voyeurism and jacking off in the closet/behind the door is mild for him   
> the emotional damages are his fault for not knocking before entering (then again faa would just ignore him regardless)


End file.
